


A Moment’s Respite

by Sickandtiredofyou



Series: Adventures of Supernatural Parenthood [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety Attacks, Baby Jack Kline, Castiel has the patience of a saint, Castiel is Jack Kline's Parent, Dean Winchester Actually Deals With Feelings, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Dean Winchester is Jack Kline's Parent, Episode: s13e06 Tombstone, Getting Together, M/M, Only Jack though, Sharing a Bed, Wingfic, basically they actually manage to talk things out in this one, dean goes through a lot, tagging that just to be safe, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29301288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sickandtiredofyou/pseuds/Sickandtiredofyou
Summary: Now that Dean has Cas back from the empty, he has to navigate their evolving relationship along with teaching Cas the ins and outs of taking care of a two month old baby. Things only become more difficult as they find out Jack may have more power than they originally thought
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Adventures of Supernatural Parenthood [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2135307
Comments: 129
Kudos: 471





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve officially given into the Baby Jack Truthing brain rot. I tried to write something short to tie up the loose ends of the last fic and ended up with this fic instead. 
> 
> This probably won’t make sense if you haven’t read the first part!

It was strange to have Cas following behind him again. 

Two months he had been gone, and Dean had felt his absence every minute like a missing limb. A constant ache that nearly overwhelmed him. Now that he is here, a comfortable presence at Dean’s back, he needs to adjust again. Shake out the metaphorical pins and needles. 

Cas is trailing him through the halls of the bunker, Jack’s tiny form in one arm and the other wrapped around a bottle. He’s looking around, categorizing the changes, the sudden cleanliness of the halls and walkways. 

Dean had to stop himself from buying those childproof handles for every door in the bunker. Jack was only two months old, dude couldn't even hold his head up by himself yet, let alone walk.

“Why are we going to your room?” Cas asks as Dean pushes open the door. “Does Jack not have a nursery?”

Dean scoffs but settles on the bed anyway, patting the spot next him. “Of course he does, I painted and decorated it myself.” Shame and regret burn like acid at the back of his throat. Images pop up in his mind, unbidden, of furniture knocked over, baby clothes strewn across the floor, the crunch of wood under his boot and he does his best to ignore it.

He had fixed the room, of course. Painted it that pastel yellow, folded back up each and every tiny piece of clothing. The new dresser stares back at him every time he enters, like it's mocking him for giving in to his grief. 

“He’s just too small to be there by himself for the night.”

He waits for Cas to settle comfortably on the bed before shifting his arms around, stuffing a pillow underneath and handing him back the bottle.

“He tends to fall asleep within a couple minutes. You can usually move the bottle and he’ll wake up.” He makes sure Cas is holding the bottle properly before settling back on the bed. “I usually go like this on his cheek or hand to try to keep him awake.” Dean runs his fingers along Jack’s where they’re grabbing at the bottle. He can feel the delicate bones as they shift and move. They’re impossibly tiny under his hands. 

Dean then let’s one hand run gently along soft brown spikes of hair, careful of the soft spot, and curls the other behind his head. 

Dean had never understood comfortable silences until he met Cas. He always had to talk, fill the silence in a room, or else it would smother him. 

But not with Cas. It was a comfort to hear his soft breathes, to know that they didn’t need to fill the silence. Just being with each other was more than enough. 

It takes Jack 20 minutes to finish his bottle and by the time Cas shuffles forward, Dean is nearly asleep. 

He looks at a loss, shifting back and forth as if he isn’t sure how to proceed. Dean lets him, cracking one eye open to watch. 

“Dean.” Cas finally spoke, a sigh of annoyance (directed at Dean or himself, didn't really matter) escaping his lips. “I don’t know how to burp him.”

Dean smiles and pushes into a sitting position, curling forward to pluck Jack from Cas’s hands. 

“I figured out he’s most comfortable if you burp him while he’s sitting, plus there’s almost no chance of getting puke on your clothes.” Dean grabs a burping rag from the side table and delicately places Jack in a sitting position. His chest is leaning on Dean's palm, his fingers curving around either side of the baby’s face to support Jack’s head, the burping rag covered his hand to catch anything that came back up. “It’s scary at first but you get used to it.”

Cas listens to him with the sort of concentration that reminds Dean he’s a soldier and Dean chuckles gently.

“You can also put the burping rag over your shoulder and do it that way, especially if you want to walk around.” Cas nods along and watches intently as Dean gently pats Jack’s back. 

“If you want, I’ll finish up here and you can go take the bottle to the kitchen.” He gestures with his free hand towards the bottle on the dresser. 

Dean watches Cas pause. He looks between Dean and Jack and the door with a furrow in his brow. Dean doesn't have much time to wonder about his sudden reluctance before Cas grabs the bottle and quickly disappears through the door. 

Dean’s breath catches in his throat the longer Cas is gone. He tries to focus on Jack in his hands, but his mind keeps coming back to the empty room. It's the first time Cas has been out of his range since he got back and Dean can feel his breaths coming in shorter and shorter. 

What if this was all just a dream? If Cas was never back in the first place and Dean was just losing his mind? Imagining things that aren't actually there? Without Cas next to him, in his line of sight, in grabbing distance, it all seems to grow hazy as if it was never real to begin with.

He doesn't notice that his hands have stopped moving until he feels the delicate brush of shadowy wings on the edges of his fingers. 

Jack's wings come in and out as they please, they have since they had settled into the bunker. It's one of the reasons he and Jack didn't really leave unless absolutely necessary. Not quite there in any solid way, but much more than just a shadowy image on the wall. 

Dean lets his fingers run through feathers that aren't there, downy puffs that fill him with warmth. He lets the brush of feathers and the sharp tingle of something altogether inhuman ground him. It's a flush of energy that burns at the same time that it soothes.

Jack lets out a content sigh and the wings become slightly more corporeal, enough so that one or two feathers are knocked loose in his grooming.

Dean leans down to press kiss to the crown of Jack’s head, feels the wings stretch out in contentment before settling back into their folded position, like a cat pushing into an owner's hand. Each wing is about a foot and a half long and he knows from experience that the longer he sits here the more solid they will get.

“Dean….” Cas sounds breathless, and when Dean looks up he looks blown away, his wide eyes tracking the wings movement. “Jack has….”

“Wings, yeah.” Jack sleepily looks up at Cas, eyes glowing the same gold they always did when his wings were out. “Happens when he’s really happy, or upset, or even when he’s tired.” Dean pulls open one of his nightstand drawers and adds the feathers to the rapidly growing pile in there.

Cas carefully pulls Jack from Dean’s hands and Dean notices how much steadier his hands are already as he leans him against his shoulder, a hand on Jack’s back to steady him. He’s already falling into his role of dad and caretaker quickly.

Part of Dean worries that he’ll lose the closeness he has with Jack, that splitting the work with Cas will somehow entirely remove him from the equation. He has to take a calming breath, remind himself that it’s a ridiculous thought to have.

Cas’s other hand tentatively comes up to brush through the back of Jack’s right wing. As soon as he brushes through the feathers, they light up a pale orange. Almost puffing up to meet his fingers, which begin to glow the white-blue of grace to match. The lightshow fades as soon as Cas’s hand pulls away. 

“Never done that before.”

“It’s his grace,” Cas was still in awe, letting his fingers run through shadowy feathers again. It leaves a trail of light this time, a comet across pitch black skies. “It recognizes mine, from the time the two merged.”

Dean’s honestly too tired to figure out what that means. He just drags a hand down his face and tries to hold in one of the biggest yawns of his life. 

Cas settles into the chair at the far side of the room and watches as Jack’s wings fade back into nothing as he begins nodding off.

“Sleep, Dean.” He commands. “I’ll watch over you.” 

The flashback to Cas sitting on a motel bed, pawing through Dean’s toiletries like he owned them, is so vivid that Dean has to push himself off the bed. He has to pace around the room, his arms feeling strangely empty.

They don’t talk about purgatory. 

Dean knew why he never brought it up, the longing and heartache and fear mixed in with sheer relief. The nights of Cas repeating _I’ll watch over you_ like a balm that soothed something deep inside of him. 

If he had talked about it before he wouldn't have been able to stop himself from admitting just how safe Cas made him feel.

“You're staying?” Dean’s voice is incredulous in his own ears, far too close to breaking for his liking. 

“Of course.” As if it was obvious, as if there was no other option. “I don't sleep, it only makes sense for me to watch over Jack at night, and since his bassinet is in here it easiest for me to just stay in here.”

It makes sense; Dean knows it does. They’ve shared rooms before, hell Cas has been on and off traveling with them for nearly nine years. This wasn't nearly the weirdest thing that they had done, they’ve managed to squeeze the three of them in the Impala before. He’s slept huddled in between Cas and Benny for warmth more than once.

It wasn't about Cas watching him sleep, it was the nightmares.

Since that night by the Lake house, more often than not, Dean woke up screaming or, god forbid, on some nights crying. No one needed to see that. Every night Dean had to live with the shame and the grief and the pain and that pit in his chest that threatens to swallow him whole. That wasn’t going to go away just because Cas was back, no matter how much he wished that was true.

Dean walks over to Jack’s dresser and pulls out a sleeper, socks, and a clean onesie. It was cold enough in the bunker that they had to dress him in layers along with whatever blanket was in the bassinet and Cas’s trench coat. He tosses them onto the bed and turns to grab Jack. 

His wings were already folded back into whatever space they occupied when they weren't here and he was obviously already half asleep, blinking slowly against Cas’s shoulder. 

“Okay.” Dean pointedly doesn't look at Cas, hoping that he didn't notice, what was no doubt, a long ass pause. 

“Dean, I can stay in my room if you’d prefer.” Dean tries to ignore the disappointed tone, but warmth blooms in his chest all the same. Part of Dean wants to agree with him, send him away so he doesn't even get the chance to see Dean like that. 

But he doesn't.

“It’s fine.” He says instead, slightly more confident this time. He slips a sock onto each tiny foot, and the onesie over Jack’s head, trying his best to keep from spiraling. He counts the little bees on the onesie and quickly realizes it's the same one they had taken from the lake house. It makes his heart jolt sharply in his chest.

The thing is: Dean wants this thing that they have between them to be permanent, he wants to keep Cas. He _wants_ to wake up in the morning with him there, wants to fall asleep next to him.

Plus if Cas goes he’s taking Jack with him, it would only make sense. Only one of them needs sleep. 

A whole night in an empty room, no steady rush of breath from the bassinet, no crying to wake him up from wherever nightmare has taken over that night, no fluttering heartbeat as he rests Jack on top of his own chest. The thought alone is making him freeze up as he slips one of Jack’s feet into the sleeper.

“Dean, it is obviously making you uncomfortable-”

“Cas.” Dean grounds out. He can feel the prickling heat of a blush on the back of his neck and refuses to look away from a squirming Jack. “Just get on the bed.” Because there was no way he was making Cas sit on an uncomfortable chair all night. He wasn't that much of a dick.

He can hear the shuffling as he finally manages to guide Jack’s other arm through the pajama sleeve and quickly zips it up. He turns to hand Jack back to Cas so he could get dressed for bed but quickly pauses. 

“Dude, shoes off! I don't need mud and shit on my bed.” Dean exclaims. Cas solemnly places his feet back onto the floor and leans over to unlace his shoes, kicking them off in a manner that strikes Dean as so human it nearly takes his breath away. 

“And the jackets.” Cas just narrows his eyes at him instead and curls his fingers into the edge of the trench coat. 

Dean can’t toss up his hands because Jack is currently in them, so he settles for marching back to his dresser and pulling out two shirts and pairs of sweats. He tosses one set at Cas before setting Jack in his bassinet. 

“Change.” Dean himself turns around, willing the blush to leave as he peels off his flannel and henley. It doesn't help that he can hear Cas suck in a sharp breath, and his ears flush even more, no doubt a very unattractive shade of red. 

He wants to hide his face in his hands as he quickly changes out of his jeans. 

Dean has been naked in front of a lot of people, slept around more times than he cared to keep track of, he even pantsed himself to get out of trouble once, the whole nine yards. It wasn't even that Cas was a guy because that was something he had (mostly) gotten over years ago.

It was that it was Cas.

Cas who he cared about. Cas who he had cared about for who knows how long, the two of them dancing around each other. Cas who had rebuilt him from scratch, but left his calluses so he wouldn't hurt himself. Who placed every freckle and mole. 

When Dean turns back around Cas is still sitting on the bed, fully dressed, and looking at him with an expression that could only be described as fond. It just makes Dean blush harder. God, what was he? Some teenage girl.

“I said change.” Dean picks up his clothes and throws them in the hamper across the room before walking back over to Jack’s bassinet. “If you want Jack to sleep at all tonight you're going to have to hand over the trenchcoat.” He listens to the shuffling behind him and tucks jack in. Sometimes, if Jack was particularly colicky, Dean would have to swaddle him like a little burrito, but tonight he’s already half asleep. He reaches out for Dean's hand as he pulls up the pale yellow blanket. Dean smiles down at Jack, leans over to kiss his forehead gently, suddenly overcome with affection for him. 

When he finally turns back, Cas is right behind him. He looks almost frumpy in the old band tee and faded sweats, his hair sticking up wildly.

He looks so human it’s like a kick in the teeth.

He also has the trench coat in one hand and Dean sort of already misses him wearing it. Dean grabs it anyway and places it over Jack’s sleeping form the same way he does every night. He lets his finger brush the baby’s cheek.

Dean turns around and comes face to face with Cas, close enough that he instinctively grabs his hip to steady himself, fingers brushing along worn fabric.

Then, all at once, it hits him like a train that Cas is _here._ He’s alive and in Dean’s room, in Dean’s clothes, close enough that Dean can feel him radiating warmth like a furnace. Dean sways forward until his forehead lands on Cas’s shoulder, eyes falling shut as Cas threads his fingers through the hair on the back of his neck. 

“Lets go to sleep.”

-

Blue eyes.

It's always blue eyes. 

Dean smiles as he drinks in the sight in front of him. Can’t help but sigh as Cas locks eyes with him, relief flooding through his veins, because Cas made it. 

Sam had to pull Dean kicking and screaming from the other world, away from Cas striding towards Lucifer like he was nothing more than some random demon. Like he couldn't kill him without breaking a sweat. 

Dean could still feel Sam's grip like a vice, but nothing matters besides blue eyes and a gravelly voice uttering his name like a prayer. 

Dean shifts, ready to pull Cas in—because _he’s here, he’s here, he’s here,_ his mind sings like a mantra—but finds he can't move. His breath is stuck in his throat as Cas lets out a gasp, silver peaking through tan, red seeping along a white shirt like a leviathan's poison through the thin skin of a neck. For a moment the sight before him blurs, overlaps, black flowing out of every pore, rot crawling up cracking skin, an explosion of blood. White overtakes his vision. Something screams in the distance and it takes him only moments to realize that it was Jack, shrill cries echoing along the water like a siren.

Dean turns away from the flash of light, away from the searing of wings into the ground, only to find that the ground is no longer there. 

Dean wakes with a gasp, automatically reaching towards Jack’s bassinet, his cries still ringing, only to find him missing. He spins wildly until green meets blue and feels his breath catch. 

For a heartstopping moment he thinks he's still dreaming, but then Cas reaches out a hand and lets it rest on Dean’s cheek. Dean leans into it, brings his own hand up to keep it there, turns just enough that he can feel the flutter of Cas’s pulse against his lips. 

“You’re okay.” Dean let’s Cas’s voice wash over him. Jack is still crying and Dean finally releases Cas’s hand in order to grab him. “It was just a dream.”

Part of him wants to scream, because it _wasn’t_.

It wasn’t just a dream. 

Cas _died_ and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. Couldn't save the day. Couldn't bring him back. Lost his mom and another friend in the process. 

Cas keeps dying and Dean can’t do anything about it. What’s one man against a reaper, against an archangel, against leviathans and purgatory, against the devil himself. 

But he doesn’t say that. 

Instead, Dean curls up on his side as Cas leans back against the headboard. He buries his face in Cas’s hip, squishes the still bawling baby between Dean’s chest and his thigh. 

“Did you feed him?” 

“Yes.”

“Burped him afterwards?”

“Of course.”

“Checked his diaper?”

“I’m not an idiot, Dean.” Cas hums and starts to run his fingers through Dean’s hair. “I read 74 parenting books.” Dean lets out a huff of air; not quite a laugh but close enough, if only because he knows that it will make Cas’s eyes light up. His fingers smooth back Dean’s hair before spiking it up again, repeating the process endlessly as Jack begins to settle. His eyes flutter shut, clenching and unclenching in Dean’s shirt and Cas’s sweats. “I think he just missed you.”

“Makes sense. He did sleep on top of me most of the time you were….” The words get stuck in his throat. 

“It’s not safe to co-sleep with a baby this young, Dean.”

He presses his face closer to Cas’s side, because Dean knows. Cas may have read 74 parenting books but he’s read more than a handful of mommy blogs trying to figure out how to not fuck this up. More than a couple had said how dangerous it could be to co-sleep with a baby, how you could roll over, or push them on accident. 

There is something about the night that makes things seem hazy. Like what you say and do don’t quite matter like they do in the daylight. The daylight exposes too much, gives another layer to vulnerability that Dean can’t afford to lose. 

A secret said in the daylight is clear, concise. No room for excuses and arguments. Sunlight paints things in black and white. Light and shadow. Secrets are meant for the dark, the gray area of the night.

Maybe that’s why he says what he does. 

“I just couldn't-” He cuts himself off. He curls closer to Cas and rests his hand on Jack’s stomach so he can feel the rise and fall of his breaths, the jackrabbit beat of his tiny heart. “You left me alone.” Dean won’t cry, he refused to, but that doesn't stop the lump in his throat and the hollowness in his chest.

“You left and I couldn't do anything about it, and all I had left of you was Jack and I just-” Cas tilts Dean’s head up gently, until green meets blue.

“Dean, if I was given the chance, I would never leave your side again.” It isn't said like a secret, there's nothing hushed or quiet about Cas’s voice. He says it like a fact, like it's something Dean should already know. Just another one of the million facts of life. 

“Then don’t.” Dean doesn't sob. He _doesn't_. But there is something stuck in his throat that burns like a brand and Cas’s face blurs. “Stay.” The words continue to spill out of his mouth like a confession. 

“Stay,” He repeats. “I need you to stay, I _want_ you to stay. I can’t do this without you. I don't want to do this by myself and-” Dean shuts his eyes and turns his face into Cas’s palm, he can't think about the look on Cas’s face. The way his mouth softens, pulls into the smallest smile. The tears that gather in his eyes.

“Please, just stay. For good this time.”

Cas slides down until he’s face to face with Dean, careful not to wake up Jack. His hand has slid down as well, lacing with Dean’s own over Jack’s stomach.

“Dean, even if _you_ go,” His voice is like gravel as he leans his forehead against Dean’s. “I’ll go with you.” Dean lets out a shaky breath and feels Cas’s lips brush against his own.

“Good.” He says when he finally manages to pull away. 

Cas just smiles at him. “Sleep, Dean. I'll watch over you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally supposed to be a really short sequel for the original fic and is slowly morphing into a whole fic in its own right. 
> 
> I just started school again, so I’m doing a weekly updating schedule that'll hopefully give me enough time to finish the last two chapters!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr  
> My main is @sickandtiredofyourshit  
> And my spn/fandom blog is @deanwinchesterforbatman2k21


	2. Chapter 2

Dean wakes up surrounded by warmth. The overwhelming feeling of safety settling over him like a blanket. 

Dean can’t remember the last time that he _didn't_ wake up from a nightmare or a baby crying or some other crisis startling him out of sleep. He hasn't been able to sink into wakefulness like this in far too long. 

Fleetingly, his mind is drawn back to the task that lays ahead of them. His mom is still out there somewhere, they had to figure out a way to keep Jack under the radar, but at this moment they don't really seem to matter. 

Dean is lying on his stomach and Cas’s knee is tucked up close to his side, as if he was sitting criss-cross on his side of the bed. 

_His side of the bed_. The thought alone made Dean giddy, smiling into his pillow.

He can hear someone shushing someone else off to his left and he buries his face farther into his pillow before peaking open one eye. 

Cas _is_ sitting criss cross on his side, Jack laying out in front of him in just a diaper. He has a small pile of baby clothes next to him and there’s a dirty bottle on the bedside table. Cas is looking between the clothes with a sigh, continuing to shush a babbling Jack. 

Dean turns his face more fully, still hiding his smile in his elbow. 

“If you're gonna change him,” Dean nearly laughs as Cas whips around to face him. Now that Dean could take a closer look, his hair was wild. It stuck up every which way, like he had been running his hands through it constantly. “Wipe a cold wipe on his stomach and then wait a couple seconds before you take off his diaper.” 

Cas tilts his head, brows furrowing.

“I'm guessing you changed him during the night while I was asleep.” Dean pushed himself up and mirrored Cas’s position, their knees knocking together. After their talk last night (which Dean couldn’t even start to think about without blushing like a teenage girl), Dean hadn't woken up again, which meant that Cas had taken care of all of Jack's needs through the night. 

“Yes, of course.”

Cas is capable of taking care of a baby, Dean knew this. Not only had he been alive for millions of years, but he had taken care of a baby before, read all those parenting books, and prepared himself for a life of raising Jack alone. 

But none of that really prepares you for the real deal. 

“The cold makes them pee, so if you open the diaper it's gonna get on you, me, and the bed.” He explains. Cas nods and follows his instructions as Dean leans forward to press a kiss to Jack’s forehead, trying to smooth down his hair. He knew it was useless, just another thing that made Jack look so much like Cas that it hurt.

The pain has lessened since Cas had returned. Even with the few hours that it had been, the looming pit of emptiness has started to heal, but it still stung. To see the two of them together, looking like a real family, made Dean ache in an entirely new way. 

Dean gets off the bed, pulling on the dead guy robe. He walks back over to the bed and sits near the foot, close enough that he could mess with Jack as Cas tried to dress him. At the very least, Jack was easy in the mornings. It wasn't like what Dean remembered of Sam as a baby. Far too loud and always squirming away and crying when either John or Dean tried to dress him.

Jack took to it like he does everything else, with a curious glance filled with far more intelligence than a two month old should have. He still cried and fussed like any normal baby when he was hungry or uncomfortable, but things like changing and baths didn't startle him the way it probably should have. 

Dean notices the trench coat at the foot of the bed, right where it had been the night before. He drags it closer. 

“I'm amazed you got him to fall back asleep without this.” Dean remarks. He places the jacket close enough for Jack to grab at and the lapel immediately goes towards his mouth. 

“Yes, as long as he had both of us sufficiently close, he seemed fine.” Cas finishes zipping up Jack’s footsie pajamas, giving Dean an exasperated look. “We are going to have to teach him to sleep on his own eventually, Dean.” Dean looks away instead of replying.

“Did you want me to take the bottle to the kitchen?” He doesn't wait for an answer, reaching out to grab the bottle.

“Dean.” Cas reaches out and snags his wrist. 

Sometimes it's easy for Dean to forget that Cas isn't human. He lets Dean drag him around by the edge of his coat, moves in tandem with Dean so he can be as close as possible without getting in the way. Dean steps forward and Cas steps back, the same way that he moves in closer as Dean moves away. 

But he is an angel and he only _lets_ Dean move him wherever he wants, evident by the fact that Dean couldn’t shake the hand on his wrist even if he wanted to. 

“I know, Cas,” Dean pauses, because he does know. “Just give me a while.” 

Jack is a newborn now, but he won’t be for long. It’s good to be close to your kids, and Dean is planning on sticking around for as long as Jack will let him, but he can’t keep going the way that he has. It was evident in the worried looks Sam constantly threw his way and now it’s even more noticeable in glances Cas gives him. 

Or maybe it’s just because he’s paying more attention to Cas. He hasn’t really been able to look away from him since he got back, too scared of looking back only to find that he’s gone.

Cas nods, blue eyes scanning Dean’s face with the same squinty eyed looks that he uses when Dean says something particularly confusing. He finally let’s go of Dean's wrist, scooping up the dirty bottle before he could grab it and escape the conversation. 

“I’ll go with you, maybe you can make breakfast for you and Sam.” 

Dean latches onto those words, the way they send him careening back into last night. 

Part of him feels a little silly. It's a common phase, but after last night it had taken on a new meaning, his whole world readjusting, his mental dictionary rearranging so the phase sits at the forefront.

_Even if you go, I’ll go with you._

“Good.” Dean clears his throat almost awkwardly, taking a step back as Cas gets off the bed, scooping Jack up along with him. “Yeah let’s do that.” Dean does a heel face turn and leads their little group out of his room before pausing abruptly enough that Cas almost bumps into him. 

He looks back at the trench coat lying over the edge of the bed, and then looks back to Cas who is watching him intently. He still looks scruffy and sleep-worn in Dean’s clothes, even without having actually slept. Dean doesn't think he’s ever looked better.

“Okay, yeah let’s get some breakfast.” Dean turns again, but not before he catches the glimmer of happiness in Cas’s eye. 

-

Sam still isn't awake when they make their way to the kitchen. Or maybe he is, but he already left on one of his runs, doesn't really matter to Dean. 

He pulls out all the fixings for a full breakfast, setting them on the counter closest to Cas and Jack. 

“If you get tired of holding him, you can always hand him over.” Dean smacks a pan onto the stove and lets it heat up. “Or I have this sling thing that I’ve been using when I need both hands.” Dean is careful to avoid mentioning Kelly’s name, unsure of how Cas would take it. Knowing someone was dead is different than having the fact shoved in your face, and Cas had grown close with Kelly from what Dean had seen of the house.

“I'm fine.” Cas keeps looking between Jack and Dean as he wanderers around the kitchen. “It's not like he's that heavy.”

“Yeah,” Dean's voice is soft, nearly drowned out by the sound of food cooking. “Surprisingly, he was even smaller when he was born, I think when we finally got around to weighing him he was 5 pounds 12 ounces.” 

Dean breaks away from the bacon to get a closer look at Jack, taking in all the ways he’s changed over the two months. He had filled out a lot, cheeks growing just a little bit chubbier, his hair just a tiny bit longer. He had never really looked squished like newborns normally looked, but his head was no longer weirdly shaped.

Cas looked up at him almost surprised. 

“He was that small?” Dean leans over to run a hand down Jack’s check, watching as his eyes fall shut. It never fails to make something in his chest ache. Jack was just so small and so trusting. Dean leaned over to kiss one of Jack's tiny hands that had latched onto his own. 

“Yeah he’s grown quite a bit.” Dean looks back up at Cas. “Like a weed….” His voice trails off at Cas’s steady gaze. He’s looking at Dean with open affection and it's enough to make him blush to the roots of his hair, and he quickly pulls away to finish breakfast. 

Dean finishes up surrounded by a comfortable silence, broken only by Cas shushing Jack’s babbling whenever he begins to whine.

Finally, Sam wanders in, his hair pulled into that dumbass little bun that makes Dean want to take a pair of clippers to it and a towel slung around his shoulders. He places his laptop on the table next to Cas, leaning down to give Jack a kiss on the forehead. 

Jack, for what it's worth, just gives him the same confused look he does whenever Sam’s hair is pulled up and away from his face. Dean had learned from one of the mommy blogs that kids tend to freak out when people they're close to change their appearance suddenly, something about a lack of object permanence. Jack had never fully freaked out about Sam changing his hair or Dean shaving, but it did always seem to take him a moment to get over his confusion.

“You're in a good mood this morning.” Sam remarks as Dean sets his plate on the table. He tugs it closer, not even looking away from his computer Dean notices with a grumble. “Finally manage to get the kid to sleep through the night?” Dean doesn't get a chance to answer before Cas cuts in.

“No, Jack woke up a couple times, but I managed to take care of it.” Sam’s mouth falls open, slightly and he spins in his chair to look at Dean, who awkwardly shovels another forkful of eggs in his mouth.

“You actually let Cas take care of Jack during the night.” There goes the tone that makes Dean want to punch him on principle. A disbelieving lilt to Sam's voice that Dean knows is paired with either a full bitchface or a raised eyebrow. 

“Yeah,” Dean does his best not to spray the eggs that he had just put in his mouth across the counter. “Jack is his kid, why wouldn't I?” Dean doesn't wait around to listen to Sam sputter out a reply instead peering over his shoulder at the laptop.

“Hold on is that--?”

He manages to catch Dodge City and Dave Mather before Sam slams the laptop shut with another glare. Dean nearly jumps over the counter to pull the laptop away, almost tipping Sam backwards off the chair, his next bite going flying across the table.

By the time the dust settles Dean triumphantly holds up the laptop, sliding over to Cas’s other side and scanning the screen. 

“Dude, a bank robbery by Dave Mathers.” Dean whispers showing the computer to Cas excitedly. “He’s been dead for like a hundred years!” Cas gives the computer a withering look and instead turns back to Jack who is gumming at his hand without a care in the world. 

“We have to check this out. Dodge City is just down the road, it could be a day trip,” Dean pushed himself up from the table, gathering everyone’s plates and cups to take to the sink. “Hey, I bet we could even find a tiny cowboy hat for little Doc Holiday over there.” 

The silence in the kitchen is nearly deafening, the echo of the dishes clattering into the sink reverberating off the tiles.

“I, uh,” Sam stutters, sliding his laptop back towards himself. “I already called Claire to help me take care of it.” He admits, scratching at the back of his neck, making Dean spin back around with an upfronted look. 

“Dude…” Dean puts his hands on the counter and leans forward to look Sam in the eyes. “ _Dodge City_.” He emphasises the words as if it would somehow change Sam’s opinion on the whole thing. 

This was _cowboys_ ! Wild Bill, Clay Allison, Curly Bill Brocius, _Wyatt Earp_! He could wear his hat and his boots on a case for once, there's no way he could pass this up. 

He looks back towards Cas, waiting for him to back him up. Or at least sigh in that way that means, while he doesn't agree with Dean, he’s gonna go along with him anyway cause he was that good of a friend. Instead he finds Cas giving him a strangely intense look, his head tilted to the side and his eyes narrowed. Dean imagines most other people would have shit their pants at a look like that. 

“You are not taking Jack into a town being terrorized by a shapeshifter.” Cas stated. “If you want to go then you can, but me and Jack will be staying here.” 

Dean pushes off the counter, opening his mouth to argue back, before Cas gives him another look and he settles back with his arms crossed. 

He wasn't pouting, he _wasn't_. 

Dean was a big boy and he didn't pout when he didn't get to put his kid in a cowboy hat.

The thing is: He could go. It might even be good for him to get away, have nothing to focus on but a hunt. This thing had to be a ghost or a shapeshifter or even a ghoul. None of those take that long, especially when they choose such a high profile look. But even thinking about leaving Jack and Cas behind after just getting everyone together made his brain heave to a stop, something like static filling up empty air.

He could leave, but he doesn't want to. He doesn't want to constantly be coming and going, throwing the responsibility of Jack onto Cas and Sam and anyone in the vicinity. Jack was _his_ kid. Well, his and Cas’s now, but the point still stands. 

Dean wasn't going to be the kind of dad who's always leaving, even if it means he has to put serious hunting on the backburner for now. Maybe once Jack gets a bit older he can start going on day trips, but not now. Not when Jack needs him to be here.

“Okay.” He finally relents. Turning around to continue cleaning up the kitchen. 

“Okay?” There's that voice again, one of these days Dean is just going to deck him. 

“Yes, Sam. Okay.” Dean finishes throwing the dish towel off to the side. “As in okay, you and Claire can take care of this one.” Sam was still looking at him as if he had grown another head. “But…” Dean watches the expression nearly fall off his face before he continues. “We’re gonna go back there one of these days, or better yet we can go to Tombstone, visit the Grand Canyon while we're out there. Jack needs to learn some of the finer things in life early.” 

Sam is smiling at him and somehow, Dean doesn't like that much more than he does the voice. 

“You do realize Jack is only two months old right?” Sam raises his eyebrow with a know-it-all smirk but Dean can still see the smile in his eyes. That almost makes all of this worth it. He hasn't seen Sam smile like that in a long time. Since Eileen probably. “But sure he’s the one that needs to go sightseeing.”

“Get out of my kitchen.” Dean snaps, picking up the towel he had just placed down and chucking it at Sam’s face. Sam quickly scoops up his laptop, bending down to kiss Jack’s head again as he wanders out of the kitchen. 

“Oh yeah and Claire should be here in like two hours.” That makes Dean pause. He takes a moment to let Sam’s words sink in, wondering what exactly he forgot, before he runs out of the room chasing Sam down the hall with a shout.

“Does she know that….” Dean trails off nodding back to where Cas was no doubt still sitting at the table with Jack. 

“Yeah, I made sure to tell her last night, as soon as we got back.”

“And she's okay with it.” Sam snorts.

“I'll let her speak for herself. Remember, two hours.” And then he continues walking down the hall as if he wasn't going to leave Dean at the mercy of a twenty year old with a bigger sense of vengeance than goddamn Batman.

Dean wanders back into the kitchen taking stock of Cas, still sitting at the table as if he has nothing better to do. He has a furrow in his brow, though, and Dean prepares himself for the inevitable.

“How did Claire take my passing?” 

Dean sits down hard on the seat across from him and rubs a hand across his face. His stubble was getting too long. 

“She didn't take it well, according to Jody.” Dean admits. His hands itch to hold Jack. Two months and he’s already gotten used to the weight in his arms, the ability to hide his face in Jack’s baby soft hair. “We told Jody that we could drive there to tell her in person, but she said she would handle it.” 

Cas nods for Dean to continue. 

“She wouldn't talk to anybody for a while after it happened. Locked herself in her room, wouldn't answer Sam, Donna, or my calls. Apparently she ran off a couple days later to go on a hunt and came back trying to pretend like nothing had changed.”

Dean watches as Cas’s eyes fall shut. He wished he could make it better, comfort him in some way, but Dean has never been good with words and what do you even say in a situation like this?

“I didn't think she cared that much.” Cas confesses, he clutches Jack a little bit tighter. “I’m nothing to her,” Cas pauses sucking in a deep breath. “I'm worse than nothing, I'm the thing that stole her entire life from her.”

He reaches up to rub at the stubble on his cheek and Dean catches his hand with his own, resting them on the table between them. 

“You know she doesn't think of you like that.” Cas gives Dean a look, but lets him keep his hand. “At the very least we’re like the weird uncles.” Cas moves to take his hand away, but Dean pulls him back. “No -look- Cas, you can't change what happened, but you’re doing the absolute best you can to make it up to her, now. And _that's_ what matters.” 

“Do you actually believe that?” Cas asks, focusing on Dean’s thumb brushing along his pulse point. Dean wants to lean over, catch his blue eyes, but instead he focuses on Jack who is looking up at them with a golden glint. 

“I have to.”

Dean finally lets go of Cas’s wrist and pushes himself off the table with a heavy sigh.

“Guess we better get dressed, since we're having company.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a happier chapter for you guys! 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr I also make some [art](https://angyandexhausted.tumblr.com/post/642807262179639296/figured-i-should-draw-something-for-my-fic)!  
> Main blog is @sickandtiredofyourshit  
> Spn/fandom side blog is @deanwinchesterforbatman2k21


	3. Chapter 3

They're all gathered in the War room when Claire finally arrives, flinging open the door and stomping her way down the stairs. It reminds Dean far too much of himself where he’s perched in one of the chairs, Jack half asleep on his shoulder, seemingly unbothered by the noise. 

Claire doesn't even pause as she brushes past him, making a beeline to where Cas is sitting. 

“Well, hello to you, too”

Dean can see Cas’s eyes go wide as she stomps closer and closer, until she digs her finger into his chest. _Identical blue eyes,_ Dean thinks, or close enough, especially when she narrows hers like that.

“You-” Claire’s voice seems to almost crack and she squeezes her eyes shut for a moment before opening them in a poisonous glare once more. “You’re not allowed to die again.” She states simply, and it's all Dean can do to hold in a bark of laughter. “That’s my dad’s body you're wearing and you better take better care of it or you can find a new one.” 

“I don't think-” Claire punches Cas in the arm and Dean can see the way he rolls with the blow to keep her from hurting herself. Then, she unceremoniously throws herself into Cas’s arms. It's only for a moment before pushing away abruptly and turning her sights on Dean. As if she moved quick enough no one would ever be able to tell it happened.

“Is that the squirt?” Claire asks. Dean nods, opening his mouth to reply, and Jack choses that moment to turn his face into Dean’s neck and puke, letting out a small wail in surprise. 

Claire cringes, taking a step back and Dean just sighs, waving for Sam to throw him one of the numerous burping rags lying around. He makes sure to clean up Jack’s face first, the outfit they had dressed him in a lost cause. 

“Yeah. You want to hold him?” Dean asks and laughs as she takes yet another step back. Cas shuffles close enough to take Jack from him so that Dean could clean off his neck, peeling off his flannel for good measure. “I have to say it's better to wear layers in a case like this.”

“No thanks, I think this is better birth control than all my sex ed classes combined.” But, she is already making her way closer to where Cas is shifting Jack from his shoulder into the cradle of his arms. Jack looks back at her, blinking slowly. At least he wasn't crying. 

It was interesting to see the three together, just how much of a family they looked like. Three sets of matching blue eyes, and with Claire’s blonde hair, Jack’s light brown didn't seem nearly as out of place. Cas just looks like a father with two kids. 

It’s made even more obvious by the fondness in his eyes as Claire studies the baby quizzically. She’s close enough now that Cas has to lean back or risk getting a mouthful of blonde curls. 

“He’s…” She pauses tilting her head slightly. It’s eerily similar to Cas’s confused face, up until the moment her nose scrunches slightly, like a bunny. “Squishy looking.” Sam snorts from his place across the table. 

Claire finally reaches out and traces a single finger down the back of Jack’s hand. Dean can see how much she's holding herself back, from anger or grief or some other sadness he’s not sure. But, he's seen that look in her eyes before, sees it every time he looks in the mirror.

Claire didn't get to have much of a childhood. It's hard to forget when he’s one of the reasons it happened, but she lost her dad at 11, lost her mom before she was a teenager. And to see your own father-who’s not _really_ your father-with a new kid must sting. 

Dean didn't have to imagine the anger at feeling replaced, he wasn't exactly the kindest person to Adam.

But no matter how similar they are, Claire will always be _more_.

Dean sees her close her eyes for a moment, sees her take a deep breath before she opens them again and leans in to get a closer look at Jack. Jack smiles back at her, his gummy smile that never fails to make something in Dean’s chest soften.

“Okay, hand him over.” Claire states mimicking the position of Cas’s arms to the best of her ability. Dean leans over and adjusts them slightly before Cas carefully slides Jack into Claire’s grip.

“Careful with your hair, he has a death grip when he wants to.” Sam warns. 

Claire looks up with wide eyes, unable to move her hair when she was holding Jack with both hands and too unsure of herself to move her arm even an inch out of the place Dean had put them. 

Dean huffs out a laugh and pulls her hair back, tucking it into the collar of her leather jacket. The same leather jacket she had liberated from Dean’s closet five months earlier. 

It hangs off her frame, obviously too big for her, big enough to fit her hoodie on underneath so she wouldn’t get cold. He never pointed out the theft, just happy that the leather would keep her safer from claws and fangs and knives than the thin zip up she had been wearing before. 

He thinks she’s doing great, for never having held a baby before. Better than Sam had been, for sure. He had been terrified, his hands dwarfing Jack’s tiny body especially in the early days. She’s slowly relaxing into it, swaying softly from side to side as Jack coos and babbles, his tiny hands twisting into the leather. 

“He doesn’t do much does he.”

Laughter ripples through the group, even Cas letting out a sharp exhale through his nose. Closer than most people ever got to getting him to actually laugh.

That prize goes to Dean and Dean only. 

“Nah, he’s only two months old. He won’t start actually doing things for another three or four months.” Dean lets Cas move in as Claire shifts forward, obviously done holding Jack for now, a soft smile still gracing her face. Cas slips his hand under Jack, careful to cradle his neck as he pulls him back into his arms. Claire still doesn’t move far, letting Jack grip her fingers gently. 

Dean itches to take a picture. 

“Do you want breakfast?” He says instead, ignoring the photo that’s already burning a hole in his front pocket. He carries it around with him everywhere, couldn't make himself to part with it. “I just finished cleaning up, but I'm sure I can find something quick.” 

Claire turns away from Cas, but lets Jack keep her fingers, and narrows her eyes at Dean.

“Just because you have a kid now doesn't make you my dad, too.” Dean just leaned back throwing his hands up in surrender. Claire gives him one last glare before turning to look at Sam. “So do we know what this thing is? He was some old dude right? A ghost maybe?”

Dean lets out a sound that is close to a squawk, slamming his hands down on the table. “Some old dude!” He repeatings. “ _Some old du-”_

“Maybe, though no one knows where he died and was buried.” Sam cuts in pushing his laptop in front of her. “There have been more than a handful of grave robberies too.”

“So a ghoul then, or a particularly fucked up shapeshifter.” The two of them were completely ignoring Dean’s sputtering now. He looks back at Cas for backup, only to see him smiling softly at Claire. 

It was suddenly hard to focus on anything else besides that faint curl of Cas’s lips. It’s hard to imagine where this all started, how much effort it used to take to get Cas to smile, to laugh along with his jokes. And now, while it wasn't done as freely as Sam or Dean, it’s common. But, it never fails to settle over Dean like a warm blanket and make his whole day brighter.

Dean gives in and slides closer to Cas, leaving Sam and Claire to their case talk. It didn't matter if Dean listened or not if he’d be sitting this one out. Claire finally wanders away from Cas and Jack to look closer at Sam’s computer. 

Jack was back to dozing comfortably in Cas’s arms where he couldn't get puke on another article of Dean’s clothing. Cas was still looking at the two hunched over the computer with that soft smile. Dean knocks his elbow into Cas’s gently, careful not to startle him while he was holding the baby. 

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Claire looks like you.” Cas says matter of factly, as if he didn't make the bottom of Dean’s stomach drop out. “She acts like you, too. It’s why I encouraged _you_ to help her instead of trying myself.” 

Dean opens his mouth before shutting it again, for once in his life at a loss for words. It's easy for Dean to say that Claire looks like Cas because, technically, they were related, but now that Cas pointed it out, he couldn't help but look for himself in her too. 

There wasn't much in her basic appearance: blonde hair, far too similar to how his own was as a baby, a spatter of freckles across the bridge of her nose, a jacket that she had stolen from his own closet. 

But the way she held herself, that was all Dean. The set of her shoulder, as if she would take on the world to protect what little was hers, the quick smirk, the haunted eyes. It painted a picture that Dean didn't want to see. Held a mirror to all the ways that they had messed up her life.

Dean would give a lot to make sure she never had to go through any of this, but what's done was done. 

_You’re doing the absolute best you can to make it up to her, that's what matters._ Dean’s own words echo in the back of his mind and he wonders if it’s true.

A part of him that he doesn’t want to examine too closely, while not glad about what happened to her, is almost content with how things are at the moment. It's a selfish, childish part of Dean that likes this domestic bubble he has made for himself.

Dean has always wanted a family. Wanted someone who would stay with him, someone to take care of, someone who would take care of him in turn and he has that now. He’s made himself a little family with Sam and Jody and Donna and Alex, and now with Jack and Cas and even Claire herself. Most of it wouldn’t have happened if Cas hadn’t decided to come down to earth one September day and promptly destroy the life of Jimmy Novak.

So yes, if Dean could spare Claire the pain of losing her family he would, but he doesn't know if he would have the strength to risk the family that he has made now.

Dean mentally shakes himself out of his thoughts, looking back at Cas. He finds Cas watching him as well with a curious gaze, his head tilted to the side. Dean just shakes his head slightly, and smiles softly before tuning back into Claire and Sam’s conversation.

“Here, how about we go sit in the kitchen and I’ll explain.” Sam says, snapping his laptop closed and moving to stand.

“Yeah I can eat.” Claire agrees, already leading the way out of the room. 

“Wha-” Dean sputters standing up. “I just offered you food!” Dean could hear Sam’s laughter echoing from the hallway as he threw his hands up in defeat.

-

Dean watches as the bunker door slams shut with a loud clang, leaving Cas and him alone once again. He tries to avoid the strange anxiety sitting like a lead weight in his stomach and instead claps his hands together with a smile. 

The thing is: They still needed to talk things through. Dean didn't particularly think his half asleep ramblings after a nightmare counted towards a serious conversation about what they were. You couldn’t just kiss someone (multiple times) and then _not_ have a serious talk at some point of another. Not if you wanted to continue to kiss that person, and holy fuck did Dean want to kiss Cas again, maybe even without Jack being there this time.

Dean shakes himself out of his thoughts.

“Okay, Cas,” Dean announces, ignoring how the sight of him with Jack gave him the same feeling racing down the open road. “Ready to learn how to give the kid a bath?” 

Cas nods, motioning for him to lead the way, a matching smile on his lips. 

Dean would put the bath off, seeing as how Jack is half asleep already, but there was the smell of sour milk around the kid, and Dean really didn't want to have to deal with that for longer than necessary. 

Dean leads the way to the bathrooms, picking the one just around the corner from his room. Cas watches him curiously as he pulls out the little whale tub and places it on the counter closest to the showers.

“So he’s small enough that he needs to use a baby bathtub for now,” Dean explains turning on the shower with the handheld spout. “I try to put the tub high enough that it won't hurt my back.”

Cas nods along. Suddenly, Dean pulled his free hand into the water, palm upwards so he could test the water. It makes Cas close enough that his hip taps into Dean’s, a comfortable pillar of warmth by his side, turning his cheeks a shade of pink. 

“It can't be too hot, just about here is right.” Dean fills the tub just enough to reach Jack’s belly button. Cas places Jack on the counter, cushioned by a soft mat that Dean had placed there for that very reason, and starts pulling off Jack’s outer clothes.

“We should probably hurry, he is getting hungry.” Cas says, dipping his hand back in the water to make sure it was still the proper temperature. Dean squints at him and Jack both, looking for the normal signs that Jack was going to start crying soon. He would usually start to clench his fists, turn his mouth towards the things near him, or chew on his own hands, but none of that was happening now. 

“What makes you say that?” Dean asks, finally placing Jack into the tub. He sucks in a shocked breath but doesn't cry. Blue eyes flash a dangerous gold for a split second before fading once again. “He usually doesn't cry in the bath, but if he does you can put a washcloth on his chest and he’ll calm down. 

“I can get a general sense of his emotions most of the time.” Dean whips around to look at Cas. “Like right now, he likes the warm water, but he’s also slightly hungry so we should hurry.” Cas continues as if he didn't just drop a bomb on Dean. 

“Hold on. You can _sense_ his emotions?”

“To an extent, yes.” Cas sounds slightly exasperated watching Dean’s movements as he systematically cleans the baby. “He did share his grace with me at some point, I guess it formed an imprint of sorts.” He tilts his head curiously. “Not much is known of the Nephilim.” He finishes, as if it explained everything. 

Dean gapes for a moment, before Jack’s uncomfortable squirming brings him back to the present.

“You know what? Sounds about right for our life. Kid imprints like a baby duck, and he has the wings to match.” Dean laughs at his own joke, glancing up to meet Cas’s disapproving glare.

“What? Come on. That was funny!” 

“Jack isn't a duck, Dean.”

“I know tha-” Dean opens his mouth to argue back, before snapping it shut again at Cas’s look.

Jack seems content in his bath, up until the moment they pull him out, the cold air raising goosebumps along his skin. Dean tries to wrap him in the towel as quickly as possible, but it isn't quick enough. 

For the first time since they had gotten home last night, Jack truly starts to cry. 

Dean could reliably tell Jack’s cries apart at this point, the sharp wail at night that seems specifically designed to wake him up, the low whimpers of hunger that echoed through the bunker. But this? This was the unmistakable cry of a baby that was extremely uncomfortable. 

It was less of a cry and more of a scream, his little eyes and hands scrunched up nearly painfully, his face turning an interesting shade of scarlet. It seemed to startle Cas as well, his eyes going wide, and his hands moving to hover next to Dean’s own where they held Jack. 

Dean just shifts Jack until he’s over his shoulder, rubbing his back to warm him up as they walk back to Dean’s room. He hums the opening notes to Ramble On softly under his breath, hoping the familiar song will calm him some (Or at least calm Cas, who looks like he's two seconds from trying to help with his grace).

Dean shifts into singing quietly, bouncing slightly from side to side, before placing Jack in the middle of the bed. 

Dean shushes the baby, wrapping his tighter in the towel and leaning down to kiss his forehead, rubbing Jack’s arms through the towel in an attempt to warm him a little. It didn't do much to calm him, but then again, nothing would until he was dressed and warm.

Cas starts pacing the room anxiously, arms stiff at his side, hands clenching and unclenching along with Jack’s cries. 

“You’re good with him.” Cas comments as Dean starts to dress Jack, warming his feet between his hand before sliding his socks on. Dean can barely hear him over the high pitch cries, still worrying that Jack would let out one of his infamous sonic blasts, but it makes him look up all the same. 

Cas’s face is still pinched, uncomfortable, for the first time since he’s started to get used to Jack’s presence. 

“I'm glad that, even though I was gone, he had so many people to take care of him.” Dean’s heart stops at the first mention of Cas’s death. His entire mind grinds to a halt, echoing at him - _gone, gone, gone -_ like a mantra. He doesn't even get to process the second part of the statement, just awkwardly clearing his throat. 

Cas’s death is no longer an open wound, bleeding out, staining everything, but it sure is a bruise. Unnoticeable until you move the wrong way, put too much pressure on it, and then it’s all consuming. 

“Yeah…” A strained chuckle slips out as Dean tries to focus on getting Jack dressed. He was starting to calm down now that he was semi-dressed, but Dean could see the goosebumps raised along his little arms. 

Dean is so focused he doesn't have time to prepare himself for Cas’s next words.

“When is Mary getting back?” Dean's body freezes, the floor drops out from under him - because _Cas doesn’t know._ He was already nothing more than a corpse and a charred imprint on the ground when Mary fell through the portal. How would he know that she wasn’t here anymore?

“She has a lot of experience with kids. I'd like to get some of her opinions on the books I’ve read so far.” Cas continues. It’s a testament to how much Jack's crying had affected him, that he doesn’t notice Dean's inner turmoil. 

Mary’s gone. If she’s lucky enough she’s already dead, if not she’s stuck in a slowly dying world with at least one archangel that has it out for her specifically. 

Dean takes a shuddering breath, trying to calm himself, trying to figure out a way to tell Cas without this blowing up in his face. Trying to find a way to keep the both of them from getting hurt. 

“Cas.” Dean wills his hands not to shake as he pulls a onesie over Jack’s head, doesn’t look up as Cas finally pauses in his pacing to look at him. He can’t meet his eyes, he won’t be able to get through this if he does. Dean opens his mouth again, but nothing comes out, his throat clicking painfully.

Dean finds he can’t finish that thought. Instead, he finishes dressing Jack and heads out of the bedroom to the kitchen. He needs something to do with his hands, some excuse to look away, to not have to stare Cas in the face and tell him that he failed _again._ That he couldn't manage to keep any part of his family together. 

Cas follows him silently, to Dean’s relief. He seemed to be waiting for Dean to continue, a brief glance revealing the pinched look was still marring his features. 

Dean keeps Jack cradled in one arm as he goes about making a bottle. 

Cas knows. He has to. Or, at the very least he’s thinking it, but he doesn't push and Dean couldn't appreciate it more. His throat is still closed painfully as he measures out the formula, buries his nose in Jack’s hair, tries to ground himself enough to finally come out and say it.

It isn't until the bottle is finished, placed in between them on the counter that Dean finds the courage to speak.

“After you,” Dean pauses again, still unable to look at Cas. “Mom, she-” Dean nearly growls at himself, frustration settling deep in his bones.

Why do words have to be so hard?

It didn't seem that way for anyone else. Sam knew exactly what to say, Cas said whatever he wanted and simply didn't care about whether it was the right thing or not, only that it was what he felt. Jody, and everyone else in his life, always wanted to talk about things, the words came to them like willingly, while Dean had to struggle and fight to even get them out.

“She went after Lucifer. He dragged them back through the portal, and it closed behind them.” He finally grounds out, stalling and starting again like an old car. He wants to snatch the bottle up, to run away from this conversation as fast as he could. 

But Jack is in his arms, so instead he turns around, leans against the counter, and starts to feed Jack before he begins crying again. The silence echoes around them, nearly suffocating this time. Cas is a growing line of tension along his side. 

Cas’s anger is rarely loud. It's not like Dean, where, even before the mark, he exploded in rage. Dean’s anger is fast growing, quick to leave. So overwhelming in the moment that you can't look away. A bolt of lightning: deafening, blinding, gone in a blink.

Cas is like a tsunami. His anger is quiet, unassuming at first. Your first sign is him retreating. He closes in on himself, pulls away before returning in all his glorious anger. Overwhelming. Unyielding.

Cas turns to leave and Dean makes a wounded noise without his own permission.

“Don’t you dare leave, not when you know I can't follow you.” Dean growls out. He can’t grab Cas and make him stay here. Not when he has Jack in one hand and a bottle in the other. 

“How do you even want me here?” Cas’s voice is like ice. It chills Dean to the very core, it makes him freeze in his tracks, makes him realize just how mad Cas really was. “If I was you I’d want me _dead_.” Dean quickly scrambles forward. He meets Cas’s eye for the first time since this all started.

“Why would I want that?” Dean insists. Cas’s eyes look wild. They look haunted, like he felt every one of his couple million years in that room right there, pressing down on him at once. It's the same look that he had while he talked about his brief stint as a god, about the terror and destruction he reigned down on heaven. The same look he gave Dean while telling him he couldn't live with the guilt.

“No.” Dean states strongly. Jack is already half done with his bottle in his arms, seemingly oblivious of the conversation and part of Dean wants to protect him from this. To keep him sheltered from the grief and horror that they lived with. But he couldn't. This conversation needed to be had and it needed to be had now, before the guilt consumed Cas whole. “Cas this wasn't your fault.”

“Dean,” Cas says and his voice nearly breaks. With anger or grief or whatever mixture of emotions Cas was feeling at the moment, it didn't matter. “Don't lie to me, not now.” 

Dean lets out a sharp breath through his nose and takes another step closer to Cas. “Why would I lie about this? None of this is your fault.”

Cas steps away and for a moment Dean thinks that he’s going to leave anyway, but he doesn’t. Instead he pulls Jack from Dean’s arms, leans him over his shoulder and starts to burp him, pacing around the kitchen as he goes. He’s going to get puke on his shoulder and back, but Dean lets him, leaning on the counter heavily.

“Yes it is.” Cas replies firmly, and continues before Dean can interrupt. “ _I_ let Lucifer out of the cage, _I_ ran away with Kelly, _I_ was the one who didn’t keep him in the otherworld long enough. _Me_. No one else.” 

“Yeah, well, if we're going to play the blame game here I think I have you beat.” Dean replies, his hands clenching the edge of the countertop. “Who was the one who took the Mark of Cain? Who agreed to let Amara out in the first place? Who gave Lucifer a way to manipulate not only Sam, but you too? Who didn’t help you track down Lucifer? Who pushed you away instead of agreeing to help keep Kelly and Jack safe?” Dean’s voice grew slightly, his fingertips aching from how hard they were digging into the granite of the counter. 

“Me. So let's not play this game, because we’ve _both_ done too much shit to talk about blame right now.” Dean takes a ragged breath and is stuck by a thought that kills any anger lingering in his body. 

Dean got Cas back _yesterday_ and they're already fighting again. The thought scares Dean. A nearly forgotten conversation ringing in his head like a fucking gunshot. 

_Dad always said they had the perfect marriage._

_It wasn't perfect until after she died._

Dean is so consumed by his own guilt and fear that Jack’s cries sound far away, his fingers tightening more until he can feel the bones creak. 

It had been a day, less than 24 hours, since Dean had thought he would never see Cas again. He couldn't even go a _day_ without fucking things up. Without starting a fight. They haven't even talked about what they were and they were already at each other's throats. Was this how it was always going to be? A cycle of losing each other and mourning and returning to more fights and arguments? 

Dean can see it in his mind, Jack and himself, old enough to _begin_ to understand but not enough to see the whole truth, overlapping, merging, the same story told millions of times. His mom curled around the phone in the kitchen, tone haunting as the words spit from her mouth like venom. Jack’s intelligent gold eyes layered over his own green, watching as one of their parents walks out a door, anger in their gait. 

Which one of them would be the one to leave? Who would be the one left behind?

It isn't until Cas calls his name who knows how many times, that Dean is able to drag himself out of the spiral he had fallen into. Jack is crying, his eyes lighting up gold, his arms outstretched desperately towards Dean. Even through the numbness that had overtaken his mind and body, he still reaches out to take him.

“You didn't tell me you two were connected.” Cas moves closer to Dean, cautious. He doesn't look angry anymore at least. 

“What do you mean?”

“He can sense your emotions and reacts to them.” Cas finally moves close enough to hand Jack over. Dean's hands ache from holding on so tight, but he cradles Jack gently. Always so careful. “It's possible that it’s the reason why he had woken us up last night.”

Dean nods along, far too exhausted mentally to reply in any coherent way. It just seems par for the course at this point, Cas can sense Jack’s emotions and Jack can sense Dean’s and Dean is just lost, adrift alone and trying to figure things out on his own. 

“We need to stay calm from now on, this much stress isn't good for him.” Dean continues to nod, his face buried in Jack’s hair, humming Hey Jude quietly. 

Dean moves to leave, grabbing Cas’s wrist as he passes.

It almost scares him now, the thought of leaving Cas. Of walking away, of seeing _him_ walk away, but he can't be here right now. Instead, he pulls them to the Dean cave. There's no tv in there yet, he’s still trying to pull together the finishing touches, but Dean sets up his laptop on the coffee table.

“Dean,” The harsh gravel of Cas’s voice makes Dean’s eyes fall shut, scared of what he has to say, and more scared of him not saying anything. “I promise you I'll do everything I can to get her back.” 

Dean breathes out harshly from his nose and presses play on the movie. 

Him and Cas had watched Tombstone before, but Dean needs something familiar. He collapses back into the couch, careful of Jack already half asleep in his arms, and drags Cas down with him.

Even as the credits roll, Cas’s wrist remains clamped in his grip. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter somehow ended up being almost twice as long as all my regular chapters :wheeze:
> 
> You can find me on tumblr  
> My main blog is [Sickandtiredofyourshit](https://sickandtiredofyourshit.tumblr.com/)  
> My spn(and art blog now) is [Deanwinchesterforbatman2k21](https://deanwinchesterforbatman2k21.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

Dean doesn't fall asleep with Jack like he normally would at nap time. 

It was one of the first things that he had read on those mommy blogs, after it had finally settled in that this was all real, that he was going to raise this kid. Always try to sleep when the baby does. For the first couple of months at the very least, when the baby is liable to wake up every two hours at night. 

It didn't happen a lot of the time, especially in the beginning. Every time he closed his eyes he would be overtaken by the sight of wings burned into the ground, and blue eyes devoid of the life that made them so special. He would begin to fall asleep only to jolt awake, unsure if it was truly a nightmare or the fear of one. 

By a month in, Dean was crashing and burning, dragged, kicking and screaming into sleep with Jack whether he wanted to or not because he was just so _tired_.

But not this time. He sits wide awake, eyes glued to the screen, Cas’s wrist never leaving his grip and Cas never pulling away. 

It's the same feeling of fear that keeps him awake this time as well. Fear that, even with the promise, he will wake up and Cas will be gone, disappearing into the night to deal with his anger.

Jack wakes up to Tombstone’s main menu cycling on the scene, over and over, the same song the same images flashing across the screen. The credits had ended nearly ten minutes earlier, but getting up would mean letting go. 

Jack has always woken up strangely for a baby, no outward sign that he was really awake besides his eyes, flickering open and focusing on whoever was closest at the time. Usually Dean.

“We have about an hour until he’ll be hungry again. We should probably do tummy time.” It's the first words that have been spoken since the kitchen, since Dean’s spiral and subsequent shutdown. It’s a peace offering, an attempt to get things even slightly back to normal.

There was a reason why Dean doesn’t like to have these touchy feely chick flick moments. They always seemed to leave him exhausted, on the teetering edge of drained and far too emotional all at once. 

Cas tilts his head, looking between Jack and Dean curiously. For a beat, Dean thinks that Cas is going to try to continue the conversation from the kitchen, to drop another bomb and upend his frame of mind for what would this be? The third time in twenty four hours? But instead he reaches out to lay his hand on Jack's back.

“Tummy time?” Dean lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and pushes off the couch, finally letting go of Cas’s wrist. Immediately his hand feels cold. He wants to grab him again, some possessive part of his brain never wants to let go, as if by holding Cas’s wrist he could somehow tether him here. Instead, he just watches as Cas gets up, smoothing down his trench coat. It was a relief to see him in it again. 

“Yeah tummy time,” Dean starts to lead Cas back to the library, Jack over his shoulder, no doubt peering curiously at Cas as they walk. The kid's gaze is downright eerie sometimes. “It helps with his shoulder and neck strength, plus it gives him room to spread his wings if he wants to.” 

They had bought a soft cushioned carpet specifically for this reason about a week in. It was laid haphazardly in between one of the armchairs and the new couch they had also bought. It was soft enough that Jack would be comfortable, even when he got too tired to hold his head up and laid it in his hands. 

Cas watches with a blank expression as Dean carefully sits on the floor, his knees aching in protest. Dean pats the floor next to him before moving to place Jack face down on the carpet, rearranging his hands so that he could rest his head on them. Cas stiffly folds his legs underneath him as well, his knees knocking into Dean’s lightly.

“You're just going to…” Cas pauses and tilts his head, his nose wrinkling in a way that should no way look cute on a man who's pushing forty. “Put him on the floor.” That manages to drag a chuckle out of Dean, lightening the mood just slightly. His quiet words are enough that it starts to sooth Dean’s dour mood. 

“Yeah, look.” Dean rests his hand lightly on Jack’s back, just to reassure him that he was there. They watch as Jack lifts his little head, peering at them with his head tilted in a way that reminds Dean far too much of someone. “He’s lifting his head up and when he gets tired he’ll lay back down and eventually his head and shoulders will get stronger.”

Cas is looking at him in a way that makes Dean pause and suck in a breath. It was the same look he had given Dean in the kitchen last night as Dean taught him how to make a bottle for the first time. The same look he had given while Dean was making breakfast. The same look that he was giving Dean as Dean told him to _stay_.

It was a look he couldn't examine too closely.

Instead he leans down and presses a kiss to Jack’s head as he lays back down, facing their way this time. 

“You know a lot about kids.” Cas remarks and his eyes are even softer now, following Dean's motion and bending down to kiss Jack in the same spot. All at once, it’s like the breath is knocked out of Dean. 

Cas had only been back for a day and he was already doing so well with Jack, so overwhelmingly gentle for someone who could just as easily kill a shapeshifter with a hard enough punch.

“Well yeah, I had enough practice with Sam.” Dean laughs when he finds his voice again. He knows that Cas is trying his best to be delicate, watching his words when he otherwise wouldn't. “Though let's hope we can keep him from turning out too much like Sam, I don't need another know-it-all running around.” 

Cas hums but gives Dean a serious look, his lips pursed. 

“I think you did a wonderful job raising Sam and you’ll do a wonderful job raising Jack too.” Part of Dean wants to disagree. Sam was wonderful, smarter than a whip, and more headstrong than almost anyone else Dean had met besides maybe Cas or himself. But, Dean knew that the two of them had their issues from being raised the way that they were. 

The impermanence of their childhood means Sam never truly learned how to settle in one place. Even now, his room was consistently less lived in than Dean, his sheets with hotel corners, his shelves nearly empty, no furniture to make it truly his own. Sam didn't know what a home was. Maybe he almost figured it out when he was at Stanford, with Jess, but then Dean came to rip that away from him too. 

Dean did his best when he was left alone with Sam, did everything he could to keep him content, happy, but he could never be quite what Sam needed him to be. He wasn't responsible enough with the money, didn’t buy the right groceries, could never help Sam with his homework after sixth grade, not when Sam was damn near smarter than him already. 

He failed Sam in so many ways, it's a miracle he made it to adulthood at all.

Dean can feel the lump in his throat, and tries to blink back tears from his eyes. He refuses to get emotional, twice in one day was already enough, he can't do it again. 

Dean wonders why Cas is being so open with him, looking at him with eyes that say none of this matters. Cas has never cared about speaking his mind, but it was unlike him to be this open. He was never so obvious about his emotions, not when he knew it would usually make Dean uncomfortable.

Even now, Cas looks at him like he knows what he’s thinking. He looks like he's going to try to make Dean talk about it. So, instead, Dean scrambles to his feet, his knees screaming at him in protest. 

His stomach growls and he latches onto that, sweeping in to pick up Jack who has been looking at them, eyes glowing their normal gold. Dean somehow feels like he’s judging him. It seems like a ridiculous thought. He was two months old, he couldn't even burp on his own. 

“I’m going to go make dinner since we missed lunch.” Dean doesn't wait for Cas’s answer. He doesn't want to look at his face and see that openness turn to disappointment when he realizes that Dean isn't going to talk about it. The conversation they should be having hovers between them, making it hard to breathe if Dean thinks about it for too long. 

He can feel Cas’s eyes on him all throughout dinner. They track his movements, catch his own gaze as they pass Jack back and forth, feeding him and getting him ready for bed. He wants to say something. It sits in the air between them, sours the lighthearted mood they had finally started to get back. 

Even as they were falling asleep, Cas dressed down again and sitting next to Dean on the bed, he could feel his unwavering gaze. It was almost a comfort, as he fell asleep.

-

Once again, blue eyes.

It's all he can focus on, smiling at him, the light of the phone booth turning the rest of his face a deep purple. It could be mistaken for a bruise if you didn't look carefully enough. 

He calls out for Cas, watching as he takes a step closer, the purple light shifting to the pale glow of a fire, growing from his black shoes, up the length of his trenchcoat. It flickers warmly over Dean’s face and, even as a siren calls out from somewhere, Dean can't look away. His eyes are glued to the pyre, gold and burning. 

Then all at once, reality crashes over him and he launches himself forward, fingers grazing the edge of his sleeve before the floor drops out from under him and he awakes with a gasp on his bed, already reaching out for Jack. 

Cas has him already, of course. He is tucked against his chest, safe. His wings are out, a testament to just how upset he is, stretching and folding, sparking a dangerous gold where Cas is brushing his fingers through them. It reminds Dean of his nightmare, fire crawling up tanned skin and dark pants. It's enough that he grabs Cas’s hand, stopping his path, pulling him away from the baby's wings. He twines their fingers together, curled back up on his side, nearly a perfect mirror to the night before, his face is buried in Cas’s side. 

“It must have been hard for you.” Cas’s voice is hushed, nearly lost in Jack’s fading whimpers. Knowing what he knows now, Dean figures Jack has been crying every night in response to his nightmares, pulling him out of them in any way that he can. “Even when Sam helped he must have woken you anyway.” Dean rolls onto his back, shifting Jack onto his chest, never letting go of Cas’s hand. He closes his eyes, scared of nonexistent flames spreading along the ceiling. He would never admit it but he needed the reassurance. Needs a reminder that Cas is still here and not burning up on a pyre next to a lake.

“No one took care of him besides me.” Dean finally admits when Jack has finally stopped crying. He falls back into a peaceful sleep to the rise and fall of Dean’s chest. He knows the reaction he’s going to get, but he’s frankly tired of dancing around the fact. “I got up with him every night. I wouldn't let Sam take him, not even if he tried, and trust me he tried.” 

During the confession, Dean had refused to open his eyes, not wanting to see Cas’s face fall, but now he opens them. He takes in the angry curve to Cas’s mouth, the pinched look in his brow. His nostrils are flared, eyes blazing. Cas always looked good when he was angry, even when he was angry with Dean.

“Why not?” His voice is sharp, but Dean just runs the fingers of his free hand through Jack’s feathers, reaching up to smooth back his hair. 

“He was my responsibility.” Dean says. It's a major oversimplification. There where far too many reasons that Dean didn't let Sam or Jody or Donna or _anybody_ take care of Jack. Barely let them hold him for more than a handful of minutes at a time. But too many of those cut too close to the core of it. They would expose things that Dean could never come back from.

He claimed Jack couldn't be without him, but in all honesty, _he_ couldn't be without Jack. Dean clung to Jack as the last piece of Cas the same way that John had been so careful with Sam, in the days he was there, clinging to the idea of Mary in her youngest son. The thought scares him more than he would like.

If anything his words make Cas even more upset. Dean bets that if he wasn't holding his wrist he would be pacing back and forth across the room like a caged animal. Instead he lets out harsh breath through his nose like he’s trying to calm himself down.

“Why?” Cas asks. “You ran yourself into the ground and _why_?” Cas pauses sucking in a sharp breath. “Dean…”

“Don’t.” 

“Dean, you're not John. Leaving him with Sam for a couple of hours while you actually sleep is not the same thing.” 

That takes Dean aback, startled by the sheer honesty lacing Cas’s voice. It’s not what he thought Cas was going to say, but this almost scares him more. This truth, thrown into his face, terrifies him. Because, that cuts to the quick of things doesn't it?

Every moment that Cas was gone, every day he spent without him, Dean walked a tightrope. He wanted to drink but he wouldn't let himself, remembering angry words slurred out from his dad's mouth like acid. He wouldn't let anybody take Jack because he remembered the burden of caring for a baby that shouldn't be your responsibility.

Even now that Cas was back, Dean had already fallen back into the same antagonistic behavior his father had when Mary was alive, and _that_ scared him enough that he had completely shut down.

Dean has been stumbling around on eggshells that he himself had placed, desperately clung to rules of his own making, terrified of giving Jack the same childhood he and Sam had. Scared of turning into the type of father that made his kid call him ‘Sir’.

Cas takes Dean’s silence as an admission.

“You are not your father, and I am not Mary and Jack is not you, and Jack is not Sam. We are our _own_ people.” Cas leans over Dean catching his gaze and holding it. “Not rewrites of some sordid past.”

Dean wants to interrupt, but he can't seem to find his voice, choking on the lump in his throat.

“You are already the better person because you’re trying.” Cas insists. “You're doing your best to make up for the wrongs you have caused, that have been done to you. And isn’t that what you told me? That’s all that matters: that you try.”

Dean lets his eyes fall shut. For all his bravo, he finds that he can't look Cas in the eye, not while he admits how weak he is. 

“I’m scared of fucking this up,” Dean can hear his voice break, and he squeezes his eyes closed tighter. “I’m scared I’m not going to be there enough for him, I have no one to follow, no guidance-” Dean’s eyes flicker open as Cas tilts his head, meeting his gaze once again. It’s the same look. The one that says, so clearly, how much Cas- Dean cuts that thought off, unwilling to even imagine it right now. 

“God may be an absent father. But you, Dean, have always been a better person than him, more worthy of praise,” Cas swallows harshly, as if debating his next words. “Of worship.”

Something in Dean’s brain shuts down, unable to process Cas’s words. It’s all too much, this day has been a rollercoaster of emotional turmoil, and this seems to be the final straw. Dean tries to form words, but what do you even say to that? How do you respond to someone saying you are a better person than god? An angel, fallen or not, putting to above their own creator?

“Why are you saying all of this now?”

Cas looks at Dean as if the answer should be obvious. Dean looks back stubbornly, his brain refusing to connect the dots even if there is just one obvious choice. 

Cas finally lets out a heavy breathe through his nose and looks away. 

“We’ll talk about this in the morning.” He says, sliding down so that he’s curved around Dean and Jack both. Their fingers are still laced together and neither of them make an effort to untangle them. “Sleep. I'll watch over you.”

-

Dean misses the ease of yesterday morning before he even opens his eyes. 

He doesn't get to ease into wakefulness today, instead he wakes up abruptly, Jack’s hand smacking him in the face. At the very least, he wasn't crying, just looking at Dean with narrowed golden eyes. Cas is sitting stiffy besides them, one hand on Jack’s back still. 

It seems like Jack hadn’t woken up again, Cas wouldn't have been able to get him off or back on Dean’s chest without waking him up, no matter how careful he was about it. This means Jack was no doubt hungry, explaining the rude awakening. 

Dean places his hand on the back of Jack’s head and pushes himself into a sitting position. Cas is looking at him, that same intense stare from the night before, as if he’s expecting Dean to suddenly get it. 

Dean ignores him, pushing himself off the bed and waiting patiently for Cas to follow him.

 _Diaper first, then bottle._ Dean chants in his mind, clinging to any sense or normality he could get, and trying to calm himself. This isn't how he wanted this to go. He doesn't want to fight anymore. He doesn't want to talk about it. He doesn't want to have all these emotions hanging in the air between them like a cloud of poison.

It doesn't help that Jack is obviously picking up on their mood, whining and squirming while Dean changes him. He gets a hand in Dean’s hair while he's carrying over his shoulder and yanks so hard that Dean lets out a cry of pain, delicately trying to get Jack’s fingers untangled. 

It isn't until Cas pulls gently on the baby’s hand that he finally lets go. He takes Jack from Dean’s arms, their fingers brushing. It makes Dean inhale sharply.

Dean really doesn't want to make breakfast. The heaviness in the air that surrounds them turns Dean’s stomach; he doesn't think he could eat even if he wanted to. There was no Sam to cook for either, his absence settling around them. 

They head to the kitchen anyway to make a bottle before going to the library, landing heavily on the couch with a muffled sigh. Dean hands Cas the bottle and watches as he feeds Jack.

Jack is still staring at the two of them with his little brows furrowed, hands clenching and unclenching around Cas’s where it holds the bottle. It’s almost comical, how much he looks like Cas with that expression. Dean sort of wanted to find a trench coat small enough for him, maybe a little suit too. It would be funny, they could take a picture together. 

As Jack gulps down his bottle and Cas patiently burps him, Dean takes the time to think. Because, the thing is: He knows what Cas is talking about, no matter how much he plays dumb he’s not actually stupid. 

Dean had kissed Cas, had spent the last two months that he was gone mourning him like a widower. He was inconsolable when he was… gone, he hasn’t let Cas leave his sight for more than a couple minutes at a time since he had gotten back. They’ve slept in the same bed for the past two nights. Hell, Dean looked Cas in the eye and _begged_ him to stay. 

He knows what those signs point to. Knows how the dots would connect in Cas’s mind and he’s not wrong per-say, but Dean can’t talk about it. 

He feels like if he does he’ll shatter.

Why did they have to talk about this? Why couldn't Cas let a good thing be? Don't fix what isn't broken (even if at the moment they did seem pretty broken, trading stolen glances over their son).

So, they don’t talk. Even as they silently agree on tummy time, sitting cross legged with Jack between them, peering up with his too sharp eyes. They just stare blankly away from each other. 

Eventually, it becomes too much for Dean, the awkward silence and heavy glances digging into his skin. It makes him want to scream and rage just to do _something_. It's nearly a relief when Cas finally speaks up.

“Dean, we need to talk about this.”

The way that Cas is looking at him makes Dean swallow hard, peering around nervously for something else to focus on. He turns his attention to Jack between them, his head once again laying on his arms comfortably. 

There was something overwhelming about having those eyes trained on you. The otherworldliness of them striking Dean at odd times, becoming the only thing that he could think about when they catch his own. They have an intensity right now that Dean can't focus on. He can't think too much, can't analyze or he may just go crazy. 

Dean clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably. “Cas, I really don't want this to become another chick flick moment I think we’ve had enough of those the-”

“Do not make light of this.” Cas interrupts his voice cold enough to stop Dean in his tracks. “This is not a chick flick moment, these are my feelings and I’d like you to respect that.” Dean shuts his mouth, snapping his eyes back to meet Cas’s and he’s captivated once again.

Dean has always known that Cas was attractive, he was constantly caught halfway between laughter and jealousy whenever anyone brought it up. Even his true form, what momentary glimpses Dean caught as a demon, where stunning. Interconnecting rings spiraling around his human vessel like a piece of art, six wings, iridescently beautiful even in their tattered state, trailing behind him. What Dean would have given to be able to run his hands through them. To be able to touch _Cas_ and not the vessel he inhabits.

Even being a demon couldn't stop Dean from wanting to be close with Cas. 

Dean patiently waits for him to continue, eyes tracking the way Cas swallows nervously. And if that doesn't send anxiety spiraling down Dean’s spine.

Cas is _nervous_. He’s scared of what he has to say, scared of how Dean will take it. Cas who walked into fights with a calm demeanor that would terrify enemies. Cas who met the forces of purgatory with nothing more than a glare. Cas who marched toward his own death more than once with nothing more than a shrug, as if to say _What else was I supposed to do, Dean._ Castiel, shield of god, was scared of words. 

Dean watches his eyes flutter shut and can't tell if he wants them to open again or if it would be easier to do this without that piercing gaze staring straight into his soul. 

“I know you.” Cas starts and Dean’s heart drops. “I’ve known you for 9 years and I know what you think you are. But you're _not_.” Immediately Dean wants to get up, wants to cover his ears so he doesn't have to hear this. He doesn't want to hear Cas what Cas thinks of him, he would rather stay blind. 

Finally, Dean can't take it anymore, pushing to his feet, careful of Jack who is still peering up at them. Cas doesn't seem to be scared of him leaving, just watching as Dean paces across from him. He keeps talking.

“You asked me why I was saying this now, it's because, when I see you with Jack I see everything I’ve known finally out in the open.” Dean starts to shake his head but Cas continues anyway. “You’re caring. You’re kind. You love so much that it’s almost painful to see-”

“Why does this sound like a confession?”

“Because it is.” Cas makes sure to catch Dean’s flickering gaze. Blue meets green and Dean feels the earth drop away from his feet. “I love you, Dean.”

_There it is._

Dean has to stop walking to suck in a shuddering breath, his face turned into his own shoulder. He grips the edge of the table and refuses to look at Cas.

It's not that he didn't know, because he _did_. Like he said, he’s not stupid. He’s known that he’s loved Cas for a long time. The word doesn't process in his mind, though. It carries a different weight, a dangerous one. 

It's dangerous to love a Winchester and it’s even more dangerous to admit that love. To have it out in the open where anyone can take it and use it for their own gain, for their own means. To have that love twisted and warped by the people who observe it. It’s not just dangerous, its down right stupid.

Its stupid to be that vunerable. To give people the chance to use something so important to you against yourself. 

The words ring in Dean’s ears still, a mantra of _I love you, I love you, I love you-_ beating in time with his racing heart. 

Jack starts crying and they both reach for him simultaneously, hands brushing against each other. It makes Dean flinch back, eyes bulging slightly. Cas lets Dean have him, his brow furrowed.

“Dean?”

“Give me a minute.” Dean is ashamed to admit it, but he almost begs, turning away from Cas once more. He’s trying to get his thoughts in order but they seem to bounce around his head faster than he could even hope to process them.

“Why are you so upset?” It's a genuine question and Dean knows that Cas is looking at him so earnestly, a little frown on his face that makes Dean want to smooth it away. “Dean, we’ve kissed, we have a child together.” It's said like a question, one Dean doesn't want to answer. He knows this must be confusing for Cas, it's almost confusing for Dean himself and he struggles to put it into words.

It doesn't help that Jack is upset in his arms, his hands waving as he screams into Dean’s ear. It doesn't matter that Dean is trying to calm him down, his emotions are skewed enough that Jack continues to let out uncomfortable wails.

For the first time since they had found Jack on that bed, covered in blood and slime, burning the sheets around him, Dean was utterly lost. He doesn't know how to make Jack feel better. He can't calm him down when he can't even calm himself down. He can't form the thought to sing to him. All he can do is stand there, the screaming baby held in his arms as he tries to save this. 

Dean opens his mouth and nothing comes out. He swallows harshly and decides, for the first time possibly ever, there was no way out of this besides honesty, to make Cas see just how stupid it was to love him.

“If we talk about this,” Dean closes his eyes and starts swaying back and forth, trying to calm Jack in any way he can. “Once there are strings attached, I'm going to fuck this up.” He admits. Revealing that he had loved someone had never worked out for him. People die when the Winchesters love them. Look at Bobby, at Charlie, at Sam, at Dean himself. He would fuck this up one way or another, someone would get hurt. Probably Cas, in his experience.

Cas has already gotten hurt because of them, has _died_ because of them. He can't risk revealing his feelings and then losing this. He can't love Cas and fight with him, he can't see him walk away, can't see him get hurt. 

“I don't care.” Dean’s eyes snap to Cas’s in shock. “Why would I care about you messing up? You said yourself, yesterday, we’ve both made mistakes. I don't love you any less for your mistakes just like you don't love me any less for mine.” It's said with so much confidence that Dean’s heart leaps into his throat. “That’s not going to change just because we’ve admitted our love out loud.”

“I never said love.”

Cas lets a sharp breath through his nose and turns the full force of his glare onto Dean. Dean’s head is still spinning, trying to figure out how to get this back on track, how to make Cas see how important it is that they stop talking about this. 

“If I were to leave again how would you feel.” Dean sucks in a strangled breath, imagining Cas walking away. It's all of his worst fears come true. Dean’s knees are weak and he has to lean against the table behind him. Jack is still screaming in his arms and Dean just doesn't _know_. He doesn't know how to make this better.

Dean has always prided himself on his ability to steer a conversation the way he wanted to go, avoid topics he couldn't talk about, turn the situation on his head so he wouldn't be vulnerable. He needed to be this way growing up. He needed to keep Sammy safe, he needed to keep his dad content, he needed to be a strong face in the light of all the shit he’s had to go through. 

But now, with his screaming baby tucked against his chest and the person he loves staring at him with questions in his eyes, he just _doesn't know_.

“I'm never going to force you into this, Dean.” Cas says, it's quiet enough that Dean has to strain around the sound of Jack's wails. “You knowing that I love you is more than enough for me, this doesn’t change anything.”

Dean lets out a sound like a wounded animal and buries his face in Jack’s hair. 

“Give me the day.” Dean begs. “I need to think.”

“Of course, Dean.” As simple as that, Cas seems to act as if everything was okay, as if he didn't just pull the rug out from under Dean’s feet. He walks up to Dean and pulls Jack away gently, pressing the baby’s face into his shoulder and humming under his breath. 

Dean stands there, his chest aching and his hands cold.

-

It takes Dean less than six hours to break.

Cas had seemed to take his request to heart. He doesn't talk about what happened, he lets Dean leave and come back as often as he needs, keeping the same cool demeanor he does even in the face of certain death.

Dean can never leave for long anyway, the same gnawing fear pulling him back.

Not that he wants to be far away. Cas is first and foremost his best friend before anything else and Dean has been away from him for two months. He honestly just missed him. Missed being in his presence, missed laughing with him and cracking jokes about different movies and tv shows that Cas only half understood.

Six hours. Honestly he applauds himself for even getting that far. Cas hadn't changed the way he was acting, not really, but Dean couldn't help but focus on him even more now.

They share the responsibility for Jack the same way they have been the past few days, but Dean suddenly realized how helpless he is in the face of Cas caring for Jack.

The first blow comes while Cas is changing Jack, leaning down to blow a raspberry onto Jack’s stomach with the most serious expression Dean’s ever seen. Jack is letting out wheezing giggles. Dean has seen Jack smile before, but hearing him actually laugh? It knocks the breath out of Dean. He leans heavily on the doorframe, his face in his hands and tries to work through the feeling in his chest. He turns and walks away, only to be drawn back to the scene a couple minutes later, Cas and Jack giving him matching gummy smiles as he walks inside the room.

At one point, while Dean had disappeared with Jack, Jody must have called because Dean returns to Cas hovering over some old lore books, his nose crinkling up as Jody laughed at him through the phone. He looks mildly offended and Dean wants nothing more than to smooth out the crease in his brow, take some of the weight off his shoulders. 

Dean turns right back around, instead, and heads to the kitchen.

It isn't long after that Dean sees Cas feeding Jack, kissing his hand every time he dozed off so that he would sleepily blink awake again. Dean watches it become a game to them, Jack’s eyes fluttering closed only to open back up as Cas leans down for a kiss. It's definitely not normal behavior for a two month old, but who is Dean to question the dynamics of a nephilim, no one had really been through something like this before.

Normal or not it still makes Dean close his eyes against the rush of emotion. He just can't seem to get a grip, every movement of Cas’s drawing his eye. Every feeling amplified in his presence. 

Even the normal things that seem to take Dean’s breath away, watching Cas wander around the bunker, looking for a specific book. Peering over his shoulder as he watches a video on the importance of a species of bee. 

At one point Cas mentions wanting to start a garden, and Dean begins making a to-to list in his head. 

It's all as simple as breathing to them, to exist in the same space, to work as one part of a whole unit. They part ways, they come back together, never skipping a beat in a conversation. It makes Dean’s heart pound because: How long has it been this way? How long has he essentially been married to Cas without even noticing?

Then, he walks in on Cas and Jack in his room.

That isn't abnormal, even throughout the day he had been in and out of his room, catching Cas in there more than once. It was where all of Jack’s necessities were. 

However this time, Jack is laying in the middle of the bed, his stuffed moose next to him, as Cas walks slowly around the room, just taking it in. Dean can hear the notes of Ramble On floating around, and realizes with a start that Cas was playing his mixtape. 

The mixtape had been a spur of the moment decision, a product of boredom more than anything. He hadn't made one in years, wanted to see if he still could. But when he finally dangled the final product in front of Cas, his blue eyes going wide, a smile spreading across his face, he couldn't help but be happy that he went through with the project. 

Cas didn't get many gifts and he treasured those that he did have dearly.

“These songs are important to him.” Cas says startling him away from the door, but he wasn’t talking to Dean. No, he was talking to Jack. “His parents apparently bonded over Led Zeppelin, so it holds a special meaning to him.” He was explaining the mixtape to Jack, why Dean loved certain songs over others, which ones took Cas by surprise the first time he listened to it, curled up in his room. The whole conversation shakes Dean to his core. It makes him think about how well Cas knows him, how well he knows Cas in turn.

Cas had said this didn't change anything, but it did. It had to, because Cas loves him. He isn't worried about how other people can use that against him, how _Dean_ could use that against him if he wanted to. It was too much. It wasn't enough. It was _everything_. 

Cas loves him and Dean loves Cas back just the same but he won't admit it because he's scared. And that is so entirely selfish that Dean wants to punch himself. 

Cas deserves to know that he is loved. That Dean would do anything for him, because he would. He would do anything to keep Cas safe and keep their family together and to make sure that they made it out of whatever situation whole. He would do anything, say anything to make sure that Cas keeps smiling at him, keeps telling him that he loves him, and Cas deserves to know this.

It's unfair for Dean to keep this to himself. It’s selfish that Dean wants to accept and bask in Cas’s love for him without having to make himself vulnerable in turn. 

So Dean does what Dean does best. He makes a rash decision.

Dean stumbles into the room, not startling Cas but making him glance up with a soft smile anyway. Jack is distracted by now, chewing on the horn of his moose while You Shook Me slides into D’yer Mak’er in the background.

“I love you.” 

Cas freezes for a beat, before lighting up like Dean had never seen. One of the lamps bursts, sending a shower of broken glass onto the desk in the corner, but Dean still can't look away.

“I know.” Cas’s voice is like gravel as he stalks up to Dean, but his face is brighter, happier as he leans in to press a kiss to Dean’s mouth. Dean lets him, a smile tugging on his own lips making it more clumsy than he would have wished. 

“You don't get to Han Solo me, buddy.” Dean says before leaning back in for another peck. “Say it back.” 

Cas lets out a laugh, tossing his head back, and Dean is tempted to lean down and bite his collarbone. 

“I love you too, Dean.” The smile doesn't fade but he does grow more serious, catching Dean’s gaze and holding it. “I know you're never going to stop worrying about the future and I won't either, but we’ll get through it together,” Cas pauses before his smile becomes crooked, blue eyes lighting up with mischief. “Buddy.”

“Fuck you.” Dean spits without any real heat in his voice. He dives in for another kiss, deeper this time, choking back a moan as Cas slides his tongue past the seal of his lips, his hands cradling the sides of his face. Dean winds his hands around his waists, tucked underneath the trenchcoat, fingers digging into the material of the cheap suit. Cas finally pulls back with one last nip to his lower lip and Dean buries his face in Cas’s neck. “Also, I love you.” 

Cas lets out a huff of laughter and turns to check on Jack. Dean looks up at his sharp intake of air and sees Jack’s wings out, corporeal enough that a few feathers drift down to the blanket below him, still glowing the faint gold of his grace. 

When Dean looks back, Cas is staring at him with open wonder, thumbs brushing the hinge of his jaw gently. 

“Dean, I know how we can get Mary back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is only out on time because my friend Ds9 bullied me into finishing it yesterday, so a big fuck you (affectionate 💛) to her. 
> 
> I am planning another sequel for this that'll cover season 13 in more detail but I don’t know how long that will take me and I haven’t even started on the outline yet. I’ll probably take a break for a little bit and work on a different one shot before I start though. 
> 
> Also!!!! I tried to draw trueform!cas I still need to color it though. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading I appreciate you so much. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr  
> My main blog is [Sickandtiredofyourshit](https://sickandtiredofyourshit.tumblr.com/)  
> My spn(and art blog now) is [Deanwinchesterforbatman2k21](https://deanwinchesterforbatman2k21.tumblr.com/)


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